


Faded

by mysweetbologna



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysweetbologna/pseuds/mysweetbologna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the anchor kept spreading? </p>
<p>Based on this comic: http://swevenfox.tumblr.com/post/110960381081/what-if-the-mark-anchor-wouldnt-stop-spreading</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded

Jillian Trevelyan relishes the freedom of being released from the dank cell where Cassandra and Leliana had been holding her. The flurry of wind tugs at her hair, bringing flakes of snow to melt against her cheeks. It’s almost refreshing, despite the dire circumstances that they all face with the veil growing larger by the hour. It casts an eerie green glow upon the mountainside as Jillian shades her eyes, raising her gaze to the crackling hole in the sky.

“Trevelyan. What do you think we should do?” Cassandra’s brusque tone snaps Jillian back to attention. Three pairs of eyes rapidly assess the young mage.

“Wait. You want me to decide?”

“We can’t seem to reach an agreement, so it seems we have little choice.”

She weighs the pros and cons of the two decisions, lose the element of surprise, or leave behind who was left of the scouting group to roam the mountaintop.  _Maker, what would you have me do?_  No answer comes, and Jillian sighs in disappointment.  _My life is forfeit anyway. My family made sure I knew that.._

“We’ll go with the main force and attack directly. The rift creatures will see us coming, but the longer we wait, the larger the veil becomes. We don’t have time to waste.” Casting an apologetic glance Leliana’s way, Jillian tightens the buckles of her light armor, her hands trembling slightly. She hates that they left the decision to her, that she had to choose between saving this group of people and another group. Who is she to play with the lives of others like a god?

The march into the mountains takes less time than Jillian imagined. Once a brisk pace had been set, the soldiers tromped along, fighting the howling wind at every step. Jillian wraps her arms around herself in an effort to keep warm, but really, there’s no use since it only causes her hands to freeze instead. Someone drapes a coat over her shoulders, which she tugs gratefully around herself.

“We’re almost there,” Varric’s words are no more than a faint murmur at her side. When she looks over, she sees that he no longer wears his coat. He winks, hoisting Bianca over his shoulder again. “You’ll get used to the cold. Eventually.”

“I-”

“I’ve got enough chest hair, Shorty. Don’t you worry. Besides, when you become famous, I can say I lent you my coat.” His gravelly laughter barely reaches her as her gaze falls on the ruins before her. Silence overwhelms the masses, smothering them like tendrils of fog. The soldiers come to a halt before dispersing under Cullen’s commands. Jillian approaches him carefully, quietly, waiting until he’s done speaking to his lieutenants before she asks for his attention.

“Commander, I- I’m not sure-”

“You can do this. We have faith in you; I have faith in you. Please, for all our sakes, Lady Trevelyan, end this here.”

But what if I’m not who you all think I am? This was merely an accident, a coincidence! I’m no hero-

“It’s time, Lady. The others are waiting for you at the entrance. Good luck.”

Cassandra leads them through what’s left of the Temple, climbing over crumbled pillars and sections of stone walls. Jillian scrambles behind the group, unaccustomed to the rigorous exercise of late. She’s thankful that Cassandra knows her way through the ruins; Jillian couldn’t have determined one destroyed hallway from the next if her life depended on it.

The breach crackles overhead, almost like lightning in the summer rainstorms in Ostwick, pulling at the fade mark in Jillian’s palm. It stings, almost like the time she’d endured the faint licking of flames against her skin for the sake of learning. She feels it spreading, ever so slightly, and the thought sends fear coursing through her veins.

_Maybe Solas will find a way_ , Jillian thinks, as the voice of the who she will learn is the Elder One echoes around her.

**Prepare the sacrifice.**

She whirls around, her staff an extension of her arm, flinging various elements at the pride demon that stomps around, crushing misfortunates beneath its feet. Her time in the Circle hadn’t prepared her for this. The demon renews its defenses and Jillian instantly reaches toward the breach with her left hand, forcing herself to remain standing as the rift magic connects. The pride demon roars in anger as Jillian shatters its defenses once more, allowing Cassandra to strike it with a final blow. Solid ground shudders under Jillian’s feet when the demon comes thundering to its knees, falling face first onto the blood-stained ruins.

“Close it! Close the rift!” Shouts cry out from various places.  _Maker’s breath, they mean me! Please, let this be the end._

It seems like an hour passes while Jillian seals the rift again, the droning buzz of the magic sizzling. Faint marks etch themselves into her pale flesh, glowing the bright green of the rift above her. At long last, it is done.  _Thank you, Maker._

She feels her remaining strength drain from her body as the rift magic courses through her, stealing what little she has left that keeps her standing. Jillian collapses to her hands and knees, her staff crashing to the ground beside her.  _I am not strong enough for this to continue. Let this be the end, I beg you._

Despair stirs within her, a feeling unwholly not her own. The magic changes the mage this time, and when she blinks, the glow of green circles her pupils before they close and she slumps over, lost to the dark abyss of her own mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jill! Get your ass over here. Now!” Bull’s voice roars across the small camp. Jillian flinches in her hiding spot behind the tent, hastily slipping her gloves back on, covering the ever growing marks on her arms. At first it had only been her left hand, but the more rifts she closed, the more it spread, until the rift’s magic swirled around her fingers and inched its way up to each elbow in strange, mismatched designs. With a final sigh, she climbs to her feet and peeks around the side of her tent. Iron Bull stands with his arms crossed over his expansive chest, his face screwed up in what she can only assume is anger.

He waves a hand at her, beckoning her closer. With the nerves of a spooked rabbit, Jillian slowly crosses over to him, pausing every few steps to collect herself and take a deep breath. The Tal-Vashoth stares down at her, his one eye drilling holes into her as she stands before him. She ducks her head, waiting for the beratement to start. His arms encircle her, gently pulling her against him, catching her off guard.

“You’re hiding something from me, Kadan.” The name stops her breath; the last time they’d spoken had ended in a fight, and she hadn’t been sure if things would be okay afterwards. It had started with a joke, finishing with half-meant threats from her. He’d asked about her gloves, and she, adamant that no one would learn about the growing anchor, lashed out at Iron Bull.

“I don’t want to fight again, Bull. I’m tired, I’m cold from all that time on the Storm Coast, and I just want things to go back to normal. Please, no fighting.” Jillian attempts to pull out of his loose embrace, but after a moment’s struggle, she falls back against him, arms slipping around him as best they can.

“I know. But I want you to be honest with me. Honestly, I thought the gloves were a fetish, but now? Something is wrong, and you’re going to tell me what it is. I didn’t realize it’d bother me this much, but I’ve never even seen your hands, Kadan.” The Qunari shakes his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her blonde waves, his touch tender and heartfelt. “You rarely stay the night, and I know it’s because of whatever it is that you won’t tell me. So tell me now.”

“It’s not that simple. If I knew it wouldn’t change everything, everyone would know within the hour. I’d scream it from the mountaintops. But I have a duty to the Inquisition to hold it together for just a little bit longer.”

Iron Bull retreats into his tent, pulling the small mage behind him. Once inside, he sits down on his bed pallet, tugging Jillian into his lap. He starts to remove her gloves, slowly peeling them from her fingers until they lay strewn on the ground. Ghost-like waves of rift magic rise from her flesh, as if it had been waiting to be released from its leather prison. Jillian shrinks back, trying to cover her arms, but the Qunari’s gentle prodding convinces her to hold them out to him instead.

“Kadan… what is this?” Iron Bull sounds troubled and serious, the usual joking gone.

“It’s the magic from the anchor. Every time I use it to close a rift, it spreads even further. Solas said it had stopped growing back in Haven, but it didn’t. It grows more with each rift; I imagine that by the time we leave the Plains, it’ll be… it’ll be…” She chokes on the words, tears spilling down her face, leaving behind long silvery tracks.

“We’ll find a way to stop this. Solas surely knows what to do.”

“There is no way to end it, Bull. I’ve looked. There’s nothing. It’s going to kill me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Bitterness seeps into her voice as it rises so she’s shouting.

“I won’t accept that! You have people depending on you, Jillian. We need you.”  _I need you._  The unspoken words hit her the hardest and she dissolves into wracking sobs, her hands covering her eyes. “What about Corypheus? Will you be able to defeat him when the time comes?”

Jillian nods meekly while Bull takes her hands into his own. He brings them to his lips and presses gentle kisses to the top of each.

“Not closing the rifts isn’t an option, is it,“ he asks solemnly.

“It isn’t.”

“Does it hurt? When it spreads?”

“Like fire in my veins. Like it’s trying to tear me into pieces. I can handle it though. I’ve been handling it for sometime now. No one can tell during battle when my hands shake if I stand far enough away. It’s something I’ll just have to deal with until…” Iron Bull growls lowly and pulls her against him, tucking her head under his chin.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just… don’t tell anyone. I can’t let anyone know the truth. Please, Bull.”

“I don’t like it. But I understand.”

Hours later when they are out searching for Dirthamen, they run across another rift. Magic burns within Jillian while her companions hack and swing at terrors and wraiths and despair demons. Her hands shake, spells fired slightly askew. One sends Blackwall flying backwards into a cliff face where he crumples to the ground with the screech of metal against rock.

“Dammit, Jill! What are you doing?” Blackwall leaps to his feet and shoots Jillian a glare before charging after a terror that seems intent on beating Dorian to a pulp.

“Sorry! I slipped and-” She’s cut off by Iron Bull’s deafening battle cry and she returns to the fight, steadying herself so she doesn’t cause any more accidents. At last, the rest of the creatures are dealt with and Jillian is closing the rift, just as she has countless other times.

I can’t do this anymore, the mage thinks, her eyes closed to the pain. The marks ripple and spread, the burning sensation returning as they curl around her arms, up to her shoulders, and down her sides. She cries out, dropping to her knees, cradling her left hand to her chest. Bull rushes toward her, discarding his axe in favor of scooping her up into his arms.

There she stays, incapacitated, while they make their way back to camp, still in his arms as he lowers himself to the pallet in her tent, and there she remains as Bull whispers his worries into her unhearing ears.

Dorian and Blackwall don’t ask questions the next morning, acting as if nothing had happened, to which Jillian is immensely grateful. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s over. Corypheus’s prone body lies before her, still and unbreathing. Jillian prods the shattered pieces of the orb as wildfire rips at her insides. Thedas is safe, after months of fighting, politics, and terror, and Jillian can’t help but feel despair.  _It’s done and I am done_. She listens as her companions rejoice, shouting, hugging, cheering.

“Coming, Inquisitor? First round is on Cassandra!”

“I’ll catch up. Just.. just give me a moment.” Jillian waves them on before stepping around the orb to look around. She rips her gloves off once she knows they are all gone, dropping them into a pile on the ground, along with her staff. A tear slips down her cheek.

> _She bites into a cookie, her legs swinging over the edge of the roof. Sera laughs beside her whens Jillian spits out what little she had eaten of the cookie._

>   
>  _“Terrible, innit? You’re the only one I could fool enough to actually eat it! Ha!”_   
> 

>   
>  _Jillian throws the rest of the cookie away, accidentally smacking a passerby in the back of the head. She scrambles over to the other side of the roof, crouching down to hide while Sera continues to laugh uncontrollably._   
> 

>   
>  _“Sera,” she whines, “this is all your fault!” Jillian climbs back over and the elf hands her another cookie, this one remarkably different looking. She gives it a cautious glance._   
> 

>   
>  _“Oh, hush it. The baker made this one.”_   
> 

Jillian opens her eyes, which are now unseeing, and stumbles forward. Her lack of vision makes the ground seem more uneven than before.

> _Qunari kisses are her favorite, she decides. As are Qunari hugs and Qunari sex, not that she’d had much experience prior to Iron Bull. They lie in bed, telling stories, Bull tracing lazy circles over her stomach. She is still getting used to his name for her, Kadan. Jillian never knew that she’d find acceptance like this, but the Maker knows she’s grateful for it._

> _He doesn’t force the stories out of her, the painful ones from when she was in the Circle. He accepts her broken pieces for what they are and tries to help her put them back together._

> _“What happens after, Bull?” She has been keeping up the pretense of being perfectly fine, and it fools her into thinking that she will have a future, one that she brutally reminds herself is not going to happen._

> _“We drink and celebrate for a while. Then who knows? I’m Tal-Vashoth now, so there’s no point going back. Figure the Inquisition might need some help still, if they’d be willing to keep us.” He pokes her neck in that sensitive, ticklish spot that sends her reeling into giggles. “I’ll go wherever you go, Kadan.”_

It’s coming. Jillian has lost feeling in her fingers, then her arms. It takes all she has to stand the pain any longer. She ceases walking, each step more pained than the last. So she sits down, legs crossed, and cries. She cries for all the lost futures that could have been, for the time she’ll lose with Bull, for what will happen to Thedas after she is gone, and for who she has become since she first fell out of the breach.

> _“They need someone to believe in, Herald, and that person is you.”_

> _“Cassandra, I can’t do that. I’m no one. I’m a mage, young, incapable of leading. How can I lead them if I don’t have faith in myself?”_

> _“Because they have faith in you, Herald. Use that to save them. To save us.” Cassandra offers her the sword. It’s heavier than Jillian expects as she lifts it up, pointing it skyward. She can do it. She can lead the Inquisition and save Thedas._

“Inquisitor?” Solas’s voice rings out in the silence. “Is everything alright? The others, they noticed you hadn’t caught up yet.”

“I’m sorry about the orb, Solas. If I could have saved it-”

“It is a shame, yes. I’ll regret not being able to study it further, but I believe it is for the best. Peace can be restored, with you at its head.”

“I can’t, Solas. The Inquisition, it’ll have to go on without me. The rift- the pain- it’s consuming me until I am nothing. I can feel myself coming undone.” A sense of calm overcomes the young mage, the burning and tearing sensations forced from her mind.

“I don’t understand- I thought it had stopped! And you didn’t- you didn’t say anything.” Solas sighs quietly. “Because you knew it would detract from the ultimate goal of the Inquisition.”

“What is one person in the place of many?” There is no feeling anymore; it’s here. The salvation of Thedas would be her end. “Tell Bull-”

“Of course, Inquisitor. I… It was an honor knowing you, Jillian.”

A sad smile crosses her face and then she is gone, the only sign she had been sitting there being the drifting remnants of the magic that tore her apart, glowing like embers, until they too, go out. In that moment, Jillian knows freedom.


End file.
